


The Festival

by thepiedsniper



Category: Naruto
Genre: Action/Adventure, Adventure, F/M, Festivals, Horror, Mystery, kakasaku - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-11
Updated: 2018-02-11
Packaged: 2019-03-16 13:04:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13636842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thepiedsniper/pseuds/thepiedsniper
Summary: Kakashi and Sakura get separated during a village festival with hidden dangers...





	The Festival

"Sakura, I can hear you sighing back there."

Haruno Sakura looked up from her dragging feet to scowl at the back of her captain's head. "I'm not sighing, Kakashi-sensei. I'm just thinking."

"Well I can hear your thoughts from here. Dwelling on the festival won't change the fact that we're going to miss it by a couple of days at least."

Sakura's scowl deepened. She knew Kakashi was right, and they wouldn't make it back to Konoha in time for the annual Cherry Blossom Festival. But that didn't mean she had to be happy about it.

"Hey, you're the one that volunteered to be my back-up for this mission," Kakashi reminded her, glancing back when the sound of her footsteps abruptly ceased.

"Only because Naruto and Sai weren't available, and only because you promised we would make it back in time for the festival!" Sakura protested, knowing she sounded like she was ten years old again but not particularly caring.

Kakashi fought the urge to roll his eye. "How was I supposed to know those bandits had found reinforcements? We're lucky to have dealt with them as quickly as we did, with as few injuries as possible."

Sakura gingerly felt the slowly-healing bruise on her left cheek. It was her own fault for letting her focus slip, but the knowledge that it could have been worse didn't lessen the pain any.

"I know I should be grateful to be alive, and I am," she began, "but you have to understand that the Cherry Blossom Festival isn't just another party for me. I love it more than my own birthday. This will be the first time I've ever missed it, and I guess I'm still coming to terms with that fact," she sighed despondently. "I just thought you should know I'm not complaining to be annoying. I'll try to keep quiet the rest of the way."

Now it was Kakashi's turn to sigh. "Fine, no need to apologise. I get it." He thought longingly of the days when his former students were too in awe of his skills to try and manipulate him. "Let's stop at the next village for the night. If we're going to miss the festival anyway, there's no need to rush home. Anyway, I'm sick of sleeping on the road."

Behind Kakashi's back the kunoichi smiled, placated.

The next village's sign was too worn to read, but Sakura didn't care. Clearly visible in the growing gloom of night were strings of golden lanterns and the bright plume of a bonfire. "It's a festival!" Sakura cried delightedly, speeding up to reach it. Silently blessing his good fortune at finding the one thing that might cheer up his teammate, Kakashi followed.

Before long Sakura was lost in the crowds, confident that her captain would find her if she was needed. Though the tiny village festival was nothing compared to Konoha's, it was still impressive in its own way. Men on stilts and women wearing colourful paper masks strolled by, all dressed in their finest clothes. Sakura stared at the colourful fabric, suddenly self-conscious. The grime of battle and travel still clung to her practical ninja attire, and she must have looked like a pebble in a bucket of pearls. One child actually pointed at her face, and Sakura distinctly heard his mother utter the word 'dangerous.'

Slipping into a quieter street, the pink-haired girl drew out a kunai from her hidden pouch. Gazing into its reflective surface, she gasped in dismay. The bruise had spread down from her cheekbone to cover the left half of her face, changing colour from purple to yellow to greenish-brown as it went. She knew there was nothing her chakra could do for bruises, and she would be stuck looking like a monster for several days.

Replacing the blade, she stumbled away from the bright lights and into the gloom of lesser-used streets. Here, the shops were mostly abandoned or vandalised, and the windows of the apartments all faced away. Gently wiping her tender, tear-streaked face, she navigated the depths of the slums until even the festival's music was a distant memory.

Brightness flared ahead, as though somebody had turned on a thousand light bulbs at once. Squinting through the glare, she could make out a shopfront in far better shape than its neighbours. The glass panes were clean and intact, showing off the interior. For a moment she thought the room was filled with people, but none of them seemed to be moving. Then she read ornate lettering above the door:  _Sakamoto's Kimono Emporium,_ and understood.

"Can I help you dear?"

Sakura jumped at the older lady's unexpected arrival. She stood on the doorstep, watching the ninja curiously. "Sorry dear, I didn't mean to startle you; but I noticed you admiring my shop and thought I should introduce myself. I'm Sakamoto," she gave a small bow, "and this is my kimono emporium. Won't you come in?" She beckoned Sakura inside with an elegant sweep of her hand. In fact, everything about the woman seemed elegant. Her peacock blue kimono showed off a tall and graceful frame, and her face belonged to someone who had aged well and used makeup even better; her painted face was smooth and free of wrinkles. Sakura envied her effortless style.

Sakamoto's Kimono Emporium was bare of chairs, shelves, even a cash register. Instead, the entire shop floor was dominated by its wares. Dozens of kimonos in hundreds of colours, sizes and styles all stood on display, worn by the most impressive mannequins Sakura had ever seen. The kimonos had variety, but these figures were truly unique. Men and women were clustered around the room like a party frozen in time. There were all different shapes and ages, some quite old and some rather young, but most were made to look like people in their twenties. The skin looked as soft and real as Sakura's own, but upon touching a nearby brunette's found it to be quite cold and hard. But the curly hair felt real enough, and though the eyes were glazed and plastic they were as complex as any human's.

"They're beautiful," Sakura breathed, awestruck.

"Oh thank you dear, I sew each by- oh," Sakamoto cut off, realising that Sakura's attention lay with the mannequins and not what they wore. "Yes. I made those too. Rather special, aren't they?" her suddenly cold tone seemed to suggest otherwise, but Sakura was too enamoured to notice.

"You made these by yourself? What did you make them from? Are they based on real people or did you make them up? How long do they take to make?"

"You're a curious little thing, aren't you?" the seamstress commented, watching Sakura examine each statue, "but if you don't mind me asking, why aren't you at the festival? Not that I'm not grateful for your custom, but all your friends must be wondering where you've wandered off to."

Truthfully, Sakura had almost forgotten about the revelry taking place nearby. But all her previous insecurities and embarrassment came flooding back at its mention. "Well, I'm not actually from this village, so I don't have any friends here. And to be honest, I'm not feeling all that festive either." She gestured lamely to her tattered clothes and bruised face.

Sakamoto's painted lips rose in a sympathetic smile. "No friends? That's such a terrible shame. But I do see what you mean about your appearance." She circled the younger woman, examining her with a critical gaze, before clapping her hands together. "Well, you've come to the right place. I think I've got some makeup that'll fix your cheek right up, and I  _know_ I've got a kimono you can wear!" She seemed so cheerful at the prospect of dressing Sakura up that it would be impossible to refuse.

"How about this one?" The kunoichi pointed to a sky blue and gold kimono on a blonde mannequin.

"Oh no, you don't want any of these ones," the lady waved at dismissive hand at everything on display. "I keep my very finest work out the back. Come, I'll show you," she slipped through a doorway almost hidden among the glassy-eyed dummies, and Sakura had no choice but to follow.

A few blocks away, Kakashi sighed in barely-repressed frustration. He'd tried to call out to Sakura to meet him at the bonfire if they got separated. But either she hadn't heard him before the crowd swallowed her, or she had ignored him. In any case, Kakashi found himself waiting by the fireside, choking on heavily-perfumed smoke and looking for a shock of pink hair that didn't seem to be coming. Just as he was completing his third orbit of the fire, he felt a tap on his shoulder. At first he thought it was Sakura, but it was a bent old man in a dusty hat that moved to block his path.

"Who are you, then?" the old man asked, squinting at the jounin suspiciously.

"My name is Hatake Kakashi," he answered, surprised by the man's rudeness. "My teammate and I are ninjas from the Hidden Leaf."

"Teammate, eh?" the villager grunted, glancing behind Kakashi expectantly. "Where's he then?"

" _She_ is probably off enjoying your festival," he replied, turning to leave. Despite the festivities around him, the copy-nin felt uneasy. He had checked his map while waiting for Sakura, hoping to find out the name of the village. But there was nothing marked in its general area but for a few hills and the road they had come by. The sooner he found Sakura and got out of there, the better he would feel.

The old man watched him go, shaking his head in what might have been pity.

"There we are," Sakamoto announced, with a final dab of makeup on Sakura's cheek. The girl smiled in relief; the old lady's touch was far from delicate.

"Can I see?" she asked, turning to the ornate, full-length mirror that dominated the back room.

Polished nails dug painfully into her shoulder and forced her back down on the chair. "Not yet!" the seamstress cried, "don't look in the mirror until you've got the kimono on." She noticed Sakura was staring at her and added a careless laugh. "After all, you don't want to spoil the effect, do you?"

The lady began busying herself among the shelves of fabric, occasionally glancing back at Sakura to make sure she was still in her seat. The kunoichi watched her carefully. Something about the woman seemed odd. Perhaps she was just lonely and strange, but something about the way she moved and spoke wasn't quite normal. Sakura realised she had felt similarly unnerved once before, but couldn't remember exactly when. In any case, she wanted to know more about the woman.

"So tell me, how didyou manage to make so many lovely kimonos all by yourself?" Sakura asked.

"Oh well, it was easier when my husband was alive and we were able to share the work. This used to be the most popular dress shop in the whole Fire Country once, you know," she turned back to Sakura with a red and pink yukata with an emerald green obi. "I think this is the one. It'll go perfectly with your hair."

"It's gorgeous," Sakura agreed, gently stroking the soft fabric. She tried to hold still while Sakamoto quickly fitted it over her normal clothes, but the woman was rough and handled her like she had forgotten people could feel pain. She felt like one of her shop mannequins, poked and tugged and made to look beautiful.

"Did your husband help you with the shop window dummies?" Sakura asked, "You said you made those too, right?"

"Oh no, my husband hated those things," Sakamoto replied absently, "he told me I should stick to dressmaking. I tried to for a while, but it's wrong to ignore our kami-given abilities, don't you think?"

Sakura made a non-committal noise, unsure how to respond. Her bad feeling was increasing with each passing minute.

"All done," the seamstress declared with a final flourish. "Now go look in the mirror and tell me what you think." Sakura practically sprinted away from her. Anything was better than being within reach of those cold fingers.

"And?" Sakamoto asked as the kunoichi examined her own reflection.

"It's… beautiful," she said, trying to see every angle of her new self. The kimono fit perfectly, bringing out her best features and hiding many she felt self-conscious about. Her bruise, which had been the source of all her recent misery, had been reduced to the palest smudge on her left cheek. Nobody would notice it was there if they weren't looking for it. She gazed into her own eyes, beaming.

"Oh I'm  _so_ glad you like it dear," Sakamoto trilled, "because you're going to be looking like that for a while." Her hand clamped down on Sakura's shoulder, who found herself frozen in place. Eyes watering, she stared unblinkingly at her own mirror-image. Despite everything going out of focus, it was clear that the other woman's wasn't there; she had no reflection.

"Nothing personal, you understand," the woman said, maintaining the grip on her right bicep, "Just business. If it makes you feel any better, this next part doesn't hurt at all. At least, nobody's ever said so."

Suddenly everything went cold, and Sakura felt the sickening sensation of falling. Her senses of sight and hearing abandoned her, and she was certain she would be locked in her own frozen body forever. But as quickly as it had started, the feeling eased. She found she had control of her body once more, and she blinked her eyes against the returning light. Now she could see the glass clearly, and Sakamoto's image had appeared next to hers. She spun around to confront her in the flesh.

"What did you do to m-"

But there was nobody there. She looked back at the mirror and could see the woman, still standing calmly by her side. But as Sakura stepped closer to the glass, her own reflection did not move to meet her. It remained frozen in place, its happy expression in deep contrast to her current panic.

"What is this?" She could see the bruise on her frozen reflection's right cheek, just barely visible under the makeup. But she had damaged her left cheek; she could still feel the pain from it. She suspected she knew the reason behind her strange situation, and a brief examination of the room around her confirmed her fears:

She was trapped in the mirror.

"Let me out! Please, let me go!" she pounded desperately against the glass wall of her new prison, but it held out against her strength. Sakamoto shook her head at Sakura's fruitless efforts, before hoisting her lifeless body as though it weighed nothing at all. She and the human statue disappeared out of sight of the mirror's elegant frame.

"No!" Sakura raced through the door on her side of the glass, back into the main shop. Everything looked just as it was, except the layout was all back-to-front; even the writing had been flipped. There was no sign of her body or Sakamoto. She weaved through the mannequins, desperate to find some clue to her escape. Just as she passed by the curly-haired brunette she had admired before, something brushed against her shoulder. She turned and screamed; the mannequins -so still and lifeless in the real shop- were surrounding her, reaching out their hands to touch her face and hair. Their once-glazed eyes were fixed on her as they all tried to speak at once. Sakura covered her ears. Their voices were terrible; cracked and hoarse, as though years had passed in silence.

"Stop it, please," she pleaded with them, unwilling to attack while she was outnumbered and unaware of their intentions. "I can't understand you."

The wall of bodies parted and a man in an old-fashioned kimono stepped forward. "It has been many years since we have had a newcomer in our midst. Travel to our village has long-since ceased, and the locals all know to avoid this place. You must have been one of the unlucky ones." He bowed sadly. "I am Kenji Sakamoto, and it is my fault you are here."

"Sakamoto?"

He nodded. "This shop once belonged to me," he explained, gesturing around the backwards room, "Until I fell in love with a young ninja from Wind Country. She was beautiful and talented, and the day I married her was the happiest of my life." Some of the men and women sighed wistfully, and Sakura wondered if they too had been married once, long before their capture.

"My wife and I made clothes peacefully for several years," he continued, "but I underestimated her happiness as a civilian. She was trained to fight, and our quiet existence was too different for her to adapt to." He paused, lost in painful memories. Sakura noticed that most of the others had drifted away to other parts of the room. She suspected they had heard this story many times.

"When she was a ninja, she had been extremely proficient in the use of  _Kugutsu no jutsu_ : puppetry technique."

Sakura realised why Sakamoto had seemed so familiar. She had encountered puppet-masters before; some friends, some enemies. One enemy in particular had been so consumed with his art that his entire body had been sacrificed to it. He had hollowed out his soul and placed it in a wooden shell that would never age. She examined Kenji's old kimono. The style was practically antique.

"How long ago did all this happen, exactly?"

"Time passes differently in this place. But it has been far longer than a human lifespan."

"I think I understand. She did something to her body, didn't she?"

Kenji Sakamoto nodded sadly. "It was my fault. Time passed and her looks faded. We had been drifting apart long before then, and so I acted like the shallow old fool I was. My attention wandered from her, and though I was never unfaithful she knew I didn't love her like I once had. That was when she started making 'mannequins.'"

The other kimono-clad victims hissed angrily. "I was one of the first," a young blonde lady spoke up. "I'd come to buy a new dress for my eighteenth birthday party. I wanted to look like the woman I was going to become. While I was here she got into a fight with Kenji-san and he left. When she came back she was so nice to me, so flattering that I didn't think to be scared of her." She tugged at her sky-blue sleeves miserably. "Now I'm always dressed for my birthday, but I'll never get to turn eighteen."

"I didn't understand what she had done," Kenji explained, "I assumed she had just made the statues with her ninjutsu. Soon the store began to fill with mannequins and other villagers began to search for their missing loved-ones. When I finally figured it out, she was too powerful for me to stop her. She added me to her collection, and I've seen it grow around me ever since."

"But how does the mirror come into it?" Sakura pressed. She was sure it was the key to understanding Sakamoto's powers, but she needed more information.

Kenji shrugged. I don't know how she managed that part. The mirror's been here since my grandfather ran this shop; long before I met her. But nothing can break it, if that's what you're wondering. We've tried, but these aren't our physical bodies and so they only have the illusion of strength. I'm so very sorry, but you're trapped here forever."

The kunoichi ran a hand through her hair in frustration. She refused to let her life end this way, yet there seemed little she could do. Nobody knew she was here, after all. She wished she could send a message to Kakashi somehow, explaining where she was and asking him to go back to Konoha for help.

"What else in on this side of the mirror?" she asked suddenly, eyeing the shop's main door.

The girl with the curly brown hair shook her head vehemently. "Don't try to leave," she ordered Sakura, "We're only solid and alive here because this is where our consciousness is. The other people aren't. They're like shadows; ghosts of the people we left behind. To them, we may as well be the wind." The blonde girl and a black-clad man came forward to comfort her as she broke down, sobbing.

"She left to find her husband," a short red-headed woman explained in an undertone, "but her body wasn't actually there, so of course nobody saw her. She watched him as he remarried another woman, had children and eventually died of old age. While she was stuck in limbo." The redhead grimaced. "Maybe it's better that they can't see us. They all know about the seamstress's trap, but most of our loved ones like to believe we've simply run away from home. And trying to rescue us only ever adds to her collection."

"The trail's too corrupted. I can't pick her from the hundred other scents around me." Pakkun gave the ground one final sniff, and shrugged unhappily. "Sorry Kakashi. Maybe you'll pick it up a bit further away from these crowds?"

"She was so excited by the idea of a festival, I can't see her leaving it voluntarily," Kakashi mused, "but I haven't seen any sign of her around here, and I'm fast running out of options. Thanks anyway, Pakkun. Good dog."

"Good luck," the ninken barked, disappearing in a puff of smoke.

The silver-haired jounin scanned the sea of faces one last time, before turning off a side street into a quieter part of town.

At first Kakashi felt like he was wasting his time, getting further and further from where he had last glimpsed his teammate with no indication he was going the right way. But just as he was about to turn back, he caught a faint but familiar scent; Sakura had been there. He followed her olfactory footprint down a series of streets to a decidedly derelict area. Only one shop looked well-maintained, and as he got closer he saw a petite girl with a shock of pink hair, standing in the window.

"Thank Kami," he breathed as he pushed the door open.

Inside the mirror, every single victim suddenly fell silent, turning as one to watch the entrance. The mirror-door swung open, and a bizarre figure stepped through. Their shape was clearly human, but covered in a silvery, shimmering substance. It was as though somebody had dipped them in molten glass.

"That's what other people look like here," The redhead explained as Sakura watched the figure run to a space near the window. He reached out a silvery hand in mid-air, and suddenly Sakura saw her own image flicker into existence. As the man removed his hand, it faded once more.

"What was that?" she whispered, confused.

"That's where your body is in the real world," the girl replied. "We can only see ourselves when the living interact with us." She nodded to the glass person as he reached out to examine the kunoichi once more. "I think he recognises you."

It was Sakura, right down to the length of the hair and the colour of the eyes. But it wasn't Sakura; only a statue of her. Kakashi couldn't quite believe his own eye. He reached out to touch her face, but the skin was cold and unyielding beneath his fingers. The clothes were fancy and unfamiliar; some sort of kimono like the other mannequins all wore.

"Can I help you dear?"

Even distracted by the statue, he was surprised at how quietly the old lady had snuck up on him.

"You must be the shopkeeper," he said by way of greeting.

The woman bowed modestly. "I am Sakamoto, and this is my kimono emporium. Are you in need of a kimono?"

The jounin shook his head impatiently, "Not really, no. I want to know about this girl. She's a friend of mine, but she's gone missing."

"A friend, you say?" the woman's painted face was unreadable as she glanced at the pink-haired mannequin. "Yes, she stopped by here looking for something to wear to the festival. She left quite a while ago though. Did you look for her in the main streets?"

Kakashi fought the urge to growl in frustration. "I've just come from there, yes. But what I really want to know is how you happened to have a shop dummy that looks exactly like her in your front window."

"Ah, well that is quite a long story," Sakamoto replied coyly, "Suffice to say that I have a talent for sculpting, and the girl was sweet enough to model for me."

Kakashi frowned beneath his mask. Something was clearly very wrong about the woman and her shop, and he wanted nothing more than to force the truth from her. But Sakura's safety was his main priority, and he couldn't make any rash moves without risking it.

"Why don't you tell me the long version of that story?" he suggested. The seamstress was unintimidated by his frostiness, smiling widely.

"Why don't I show you instead?"

As she turned her back to lead him to the other room, Kakashi lifted his forehead protector from over his left eye. The blood-red sharingan studied the frozen Sakura, looking for any clues to its nature. The verdict wasn't promising; chakra was present in the statue just like it would be in a real human, confirming that it was indeed Sakura's body standing in the shop window. But perhaps even more disturbingly, the chakra wasn't flowing in the way Kakashi expected. If Sakura were conscious and aware in that state, her chakra would be flowing strongly. If she were trapped in a genjutsu, literally a prisoner in her own mind, then the flow of her chakra would have looked different again; and there would have been a foreign chakra signature manipulating her central nervous system. But the blue-green glow of Sakura's life-force didn't seem to be flowing at all, merely frozen in place like the rest of her body. It was as though an element of the ninja was missing, and the rest couldn't work without it. Kakashi tugged his hitai-ate over the Sharingan and followed Sakamoto into the other room. Only she had the answer to Sakura's fate.

"Kakashi!"

Sakura cried out in fear and dismay as she realised who the glass man was. He had managed to find her after all, and now she would be responsible for both their fates. She rushed forward to signal to him somehow, but even before the firm hands of the other victims moved to stop her she knew it was futile. He couldn't hear her and she couldn't touch him. Her hand went straight through his shimmering form, leaving no trace. No matter how much she yelled and struggled in the mirror world, she was powerless to prevent anything that happened in reality.

"Oh Kami, I'm such an idiot…" she whispered. Missing the Cherry Blossom festival and hurting her face seemed like such trivial things now.

The others were muttering in low voices, shifting to the side. "The seamstress," one man whispered to Sakura, tugging at her elbow to make her move. Sakura followed the others' gaze to a point a few steps from Kakashi, but there was no sign of the woman.

"I don't see anything."

"Don't look with your eyes, look with your instincts," the man urged, pointing. Sakura concentrated on the area, and found that he was correct; she could feel the presence of something very unpleasant there, though there was still nothing to be seen. In the same way that her reflection hadn't shown up in the mirror's surface, Sakamoto didn't exist there except as an evil echo.

"Wait, what's happening now?" the bad feeling had retreated to the mirror room, and after a moment, Kakashi moved to follow it. "No, stop! Kakashi-sensei, don't look in the mirror!" Her words had no effect on the glassy figure as it swept right through her and out of sight. Sakura dashed after it, side-stepping those who tried to stop her.

"I'm not letting her get anyone else," she snarled as Kenji himself tried to catch the sleeve of her kimono. "Especially not one of my own teammates, so either help me or get out of the way."

Kakashi watched Sakamoto closely as she rummaged around in the back room. Though she didn't seem in any hurry to start explaining herself, he remained wary of an unexpected attack.

"You work with some quality materials," he commented, glancing around at the bolts of jewel-bright fabric.

Sakamoto seemed pleased. "Oh yes, everything has to be the highest standard," she agreed, unwinding a length of delicate gold braid. "Nobody wants to settle for second-best."

Kakashi turned his head to hide his expression. Movement caught his eye, and he gasped. Sakura was standing there, watching him anxiously. Framing her was the ornate design of a large antique mirror.

"Sakura!" The jounin leapt forward. He had never heard of trapping somebody's consciousness inside a mirror, but the theory seemed similar to a genjutsu or puppet-possession jutsu.

"No, don't!" Sakura cried out, shaking her head furiously. She needed to make Kakashi understand the danger of getting too close.

Kakashi halted before her, on the other side of the glass. His palm was raised, stopped just before making contact with the mirror. At first Sakura thought he had decided to avoid touching it. But his stillness was unnatural, his eye unable to blink or look away.

"It's a shame I couldn't have you model for me," Sakamoto mused, hand on the copy-nin's back. "You're very handsome, if a little scruffy. You remind me of my late husband."

Sakura pressed her hand to the glass, gritting her teeth. She was as insubstantial as her own reflection, with only the illusion of muscles and chakra. As her new friends had reminded her, the mirror could not be cracked by force. But Kakashi didn't know that yet, and she didn't want him to lose hope. Making a fist, she struck the surface with all her might.

Kakashi watched helplessly as Sakura continued to fight. Her image beyond the glass blurred into his own unmoving reflection on its surface, causing his vision to flicker in and out of focus. The seamstress' cold hand was still on his back and he could see her in his peripheral vision. But as she leaned forward to grin at Sakura, he noticed that her own reflection didn't show up in the same way. It was as though the mirror couldn't capture her image.

"She's quite determined, isn't she?" Sakamoto remarked. "Not that it will do any good. The mirror's made of far stronger stuff than she."

The glass remained as solid as ever. Sakura's face was wet with frustrated tears, and she scrubbed at it distractedly, forgetting her tender cheek. With the twinge of pain came all the memories associated with it; fighting bandits in a foreign town, complaining to Kakashi about the festival, feeling self-conscious among the crowds of strangers, examining it critically in the reflective surface of her kunai…

Kakashi's mind was racing with a thousand ideas of escape, all of which involved forming seals or having use of his sharingan. Despite being unable to do so much as blink his eye, he was determined that somehow they would be able to escape the fate that loomed before them; if only he could figure out how. We watched as Sakura's desperate attempts at breaking free finally came to an end.

"She's abandoned hope," Sakamoto observed. Sakura had stepped back from the mirror and was tugging feverishly at the various cords and ties of her kimono. "Look at all that hard work gone to waste."

Eventually Sakura loosened the tie around her waist, shrugging off the summery robe to expose her own clothes hidden underneath. Though she was only the imprint of her real body, and physical attacks held as much power as a shadow, she did have one weapon that didn't rely on force. Pulling a kunai from her weapons pouch, she held it up for Sakamoto to see.

The seamstress laughed. "So you have a knife; it isn't a real blade, so it can't do any real damage."

She couldn't hear what the woman was saying, but Sakura could guess. "It's not just a knife," she growled, angling the polished edge toward Sakamoto, "it's a mirror."

The shiny sliver of metal caught the woman's reflection and held it. The woman had made sure that her ornate looking-glass had never been able to capture her own image, for fear of falling into her own trap. But now the kunai was part of the mirror world, and she was reflected in its surface. The seamstress froze, paralysed by her own gaze. Sakura could see the fear in her eyes as realisation dawned upon her. Everything in the back-to-front room began to shudder and vibrate uncontrollably. The sound of shouting from the main room mixed with a continuous, resonating tone, like someone had run a finger along a crystal glass. It grew in intensity until it was so loud Sakura was forced to drop the kunai to cover her ears. But the damage had been done; Sakamoto's essence had been caught in the mirror world, and the effect was catastrophic. Sakura watched as a long crack formed in the surface of the glass, spreading further and further until the whole pane shattered into a million pieces. The wailing in her ears suddenly ceased, and everything went black.

When her senses returned to her, she was standing back in the main area of the shop. Her entire body felt sore and exhausted but blessedly solid, and she collapsed in a graceless heap. Chafing circulation back into her legs, she managed a few wobbly steps. All around her the mannequins were starting to come to life in the same unnerving manner as before. But this time the room wasn't back-to-front and the people weren't shades of their former selves; they were real. Sakamoto's curse had broken and she and the other victims had returned to their bodies once more.

Kakashi left the mirror room, also free of his paralysis. The whole floor was covered in diamond-like shards of mirror, and he stepped carefully. After Sakura had caught Sakamoto's reflection on her side of the mirror, the entire sheet of glass had exploded in on itself. The seamstress's hand had maintained its grip on Kakashi's back, though now he was the one who could move and she the one frozen in place. As he yanked himself free, the woman's cold fingers snapped and crumbled. Her entire lifeless body disintegrated before his eyes, like a sandcastle dissolved by sea foam. It was faintly sickening thing to see it happen to a person, even an evil one; though truthfully, she probably hadn't been flesh and blood for a very long time.

"Thank you," Kenji Sakamoto shook the ninjas' hands firmly. "From all of us. We're finally free to live our lives." He and the other former-victims waited at the edge of the village to watch the pair leave.

"I'm just sorry you've all had to wait so long," Sakura told him, returning the handshake. "It doesn't seem fair that you should have lost so much time."

"But now we can gain it back," Kenji assured her, "it will be hard of course, knowing all our loved ones have long since passed. But we have each other for support, and the entire village can breathe easier with the burden that you have lifted."

"We'll inform the Hokage and have her spread the message to other towns," Kakashi said, "Fire Country maps will be updated to include you, and the number of travellers will eventually rise again."

As they waved goodbye to the cheers of their grateful friends, Sakura couldn't help but feel a bit wistful. Their short detour to the village hadn't been the restful holiday they had expected. In fact, they were still several days from home and more exhausted than ever. She was happy to have helped the poor people, but her aching body certainly didn't relish the prospect of another few nights spent sleeping on the road.

"Sakura, I can hear you sighing back there."


End file.
